


Concerning the estate of the sons of men

by Rez (lo_rez)



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Gen, Gift Fic, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-07
Updated: 2006-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-02 00:05:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lo_rez/pseuds/Rez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither life nor nature cares whether justice is ever done or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concerning the estate of the sons of men

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Grynne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Grynne/gifts).



> I said in mine heart concerning the estate of the sons of men, that God might manifest them, and that they might see that they themselves are beasts. --Ecclesiastes 3:18 (KJV)
> 
> Written for the_grynne from her Patricia Highsmith prompt, above, for the 2005 Sanest Secret Santa exchange hosted by chele74.

The wind off the Thames was raw. She held in a shiver, not wanting to startle the birds. They'd been brave, the sparrows especially, rushing the toes of her boots to snatch at bits of stale bread, but there were too many people about and the voices scattered them like leaves. Though there were no leaves, of course, this early in the spring.

"Ruth! Mind if I join you?"

"Malcolm, hello, yes-- no, of course not. Please." Her surprise, like a balky engine, clouded the air with explosive little puffs. She slid down to warm a new spot on the bench and dropped the crust she'd been holding. Malcolm retrieved it and handed it back and she smiled at him, feeling a fool and resenting it. Which was nonsense.

Ruth was not among those who held that Five's almighty panopticon, in the person of Harry Pearce, kept a minute and ceaseless awareness of its own constituent parts. She doubted, as some would not, that Harry's glass-armored stare, as she'd risen from her desk, had fixed Malcolm Wynn-Jones in its beam and sent him after her without so much as a nod or a flick of the hand. This was coincidence, and possibly not even that. Perhaps Malcolm came here often. It was a public park and convenient to Thames House. Perhaps she was the interloper.

Malcolm offered her tea, smoking hot from a vacuum flask, and saluted her with the cup when she declined. She supposed she looked as miserably winter-wrung as he did, hands and face chapped in the weak sunlight.

True enough, though, that Harry had been particularly attentive these past weeks, and perhaps it was only to be expected. Resources were dwindling lately and -- she turned a gasp into a cough, appalled. Her eyes watered. How could it be April already, and still so cold?

"It's all right, you know," Malcolm said. "You needn't hold back: bad for your liver. So my gran used to tell us, and she married a bishop."

The cough, real enough at that, ended on a laugh, more or less. She took the handkerchief he offered and found herself accepting the sympathy as well. "She'd know, then, wouldn't she."

He smiled back, his sandy lashes catching the light. Malcolm had known Harry far longer than she, and Malcolm was no fool. She sat with him, handkerchief in one hand, crust in the other, and they looked out across the river together. There was Vauxhall Cross, over on the Lambeth side.

"Thinking about Fiona and Danny?" He kept his voice low. A few sparrows edged hopefully back to the footpath, lighting on the embankment wall and drifting down.

She bowed her head a little, watching her hands as they tore the remaining crust to pieces and dropped them at her feet. In the lean months she'd made it a habit, tucking the ends of her weekly wholemeal loaf into her pocket.

"Some, yes," she said, because to admit to fear would shame her unbearably, and it was simply ridiculous to talk of things like duty or honor or, God knew, justice. The words froze in her mouth but she moved softly, not to frighten the birds, and didn't stop until the bread was gone.

[end]

_January 7, 2006_


End file.
